


Blindsided

by Saathi1013



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mornings, POV Male Character, Routine, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-25
Updated: 2007-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unintentional voyeurism, miscommunication, and smut, with a strong emphasis on morning routines, and the M3 family (refers to S2, when Matt and Mohinder were raising Molly).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindsided

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to speakersxblown for the amazingly supportive beta work.

((Monday))

Disorientation, upon waking. Years of living in the same place, with the same objects surrounding him, had set him up for the past several months of intermittent confusion in the morning, but he heard Molly's voice stage whispering, "No, don't wake him up! He has the day off!" Mohinder replied too softly to hear, and Matt could hear their hushed laughter.Probably something about him missing breakfast, and he was tempted to say something or mentally eavesdrop, but he was still tired.

He decided to take advantage of their courtesy, and instead listened to them getting ready for the morning, enjoying the smells of the hot, pungent tea Mohinder swore by in the mornings and the pancakes Molly demanded whenever Mohinder was in town.

Matt had once made pancakes for her, but she'd insisted on showing him how Mohinder did it. Between their two inexpert, conflicting methods, Bisquick had wound up caked onto one of the burners for a week, rendering it unusable without a heavy, scorched smell.

The door slammed, signaling Molly's rush to get to school. Mohinder's footsteps lingered by the window for a few minutes before turning back to the kitchen to rinse the breakfast dishes .

Matt drifted back into sleep as Mohinder thought about Molly's problems at school, her powers and how to raise her to feel special without making her feel isolated. The question came up: if he had a cure for her abilities, and she asked for it, would he give it to her? Mohinder let his mind brush by that topic and then recoiled, settling instead on the theoretical aspects of what the cure for the gifted-targeting disease was, and how to replicate it without continually stabbing himself in the arm…

When Matt surfaced to consciousness again, he heard the shower running, and no internal monologue from the other man. He almost mentally reached out for that contact again, even faintly, until he realized he was really awake this time. The barriers had settled into their places, he had no need for the white noise of four and a half languages (five if you counted geneticist technobabble) to settle him into sleep.

He sat up, swung a little clumsily out of the sagging mattress, and scrubbed a palm across his cheek. ‘Waiting for your brain to boot up , ’ Janice had always called it. He was never all that coordinated first thing in the morning, slower to react when someone was talking to him, or to start his daily routine. She had teased him about it early in their marriage, saying he was cute all fuzzy-headed and disheveled, but eventually it had become another annoyance, like everything else… He shook his head a little to banish those memories, and focused on his morning routine.

 _ Coffee. Brush teeth. Pee. Shower, shave, change. Breakfast. _  Not always in that order, and nowadays the first thing was getting Molly through her own wake-up rituals. They’d been more difficult lately, with the nightmares, but helping her gave him something to do other than brood over the scars in his chest .

Walking down the hall to the kitchen, Matt saw the bathroom door ajar with light billows of steam eddying out, and considered grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste to brush over the kitchen sink. As he paused, a waft of near-thought from Mohinder brushed past him. It was one of those moments where everything stopped, and he reached out, trying to snare what he had encountered.

Often, he found himself walking to lunch on the street, when a stranger’s mind would brush against his, feather - light, and it would be so inarticulate and elusive that he spent minutes blindly and inadvertently tailing them through the crowds to track down what it was. Most times, it would be a feeling – unclear, unfocused, and in some personal emotional code that every person had, unique and inexpressible with words… These moments caught him off guard and fascinated him so thoroughly that he’d have to tear himself away, figure out where he was and how late he would be getting back to work. The day he realized that he was the only man on earth who could look into someone’s eyes and say “I  _really do understand_ , and no one else  _ever will_ ,” he called in sick and took Molly to the zoo instead, steadfastly ignoring anything that wasn’t her sheer delight at what they saw. It was a depressing realization, but it turned out to be one of the best days he’d ever had. Since then, though, he’d let those moments wash over him and away immediately. It was too dangerous to get caught up in a stranger’s mental turmoil.

But this wasn’t a stranger, this was Mohinder, and the thought felt like… guilt? He moved to stand in the doorway, and felt the steam wrap around him, near-scalding at first but when mixed with the air in the hall it left an immediate chill.Mohinder always seemed to take his showers ten degrees hotter than any normal person should be able to stand. Matt concentrated –  _just a little, I need to know what’s wrong_  – before Mohinder’s usually open, inquisitive, and brilliant mind finally made itself clear.

There was guilt and self-recrimination first, heavy and oppressive, so much so that it almost blocked the rest, but ‘the rest’ was lust and desire so straightforward and intense that, once noticed, it flooded out all of the first impressions.

It was Mohinder, fighting himself, and losing.

Matt felt his face burning, but he was well and truly caught. He didn’t realize he’d shifted his gaze from the doorjamb until he caught sight of the other man, a reflection in the mirror of the gap between curtain and wall. It was enough to see that Mohinder was bracing one forearm against the tiles, head hanging down, while the other arm was extended downward, moving in an even, unmistakable rhythm. The motion swung his hair, curled and dripping, in front of his face so that all Matt caught were glimpses of squeezed-shut eyes, tight jaw muscles, and an open mouth, drawn in something like agony.

_ Get out move get out _ , Matt told himself, but he found himself staring anyway. It wasn’t until a moment later, when Mohinder grated out an unfamiliar name in what could have been a thought, or a broken gasp, that Matt finally left the doorway and sped to the kitchen. His own thoughts were filled not with what he’d just witnessed, nor with his interrupted routine – though he tried – but with the serious puzzle he’d just stumbled upon.

_ Who the hell is Zane? _

***

Mohinder spent the rest of the morning in his room, the light incessant tapping of his keyboard interrupted only when he ventured out for more tea. He had a garish carton of the stuff stashed in the fridge, plastered with foreign script and bright patterning; this he would add to soymilk that he heated in a saucepan on the stove and often let simmer for hours on very low heat when his attention was caught up elsewhere.

One morning, Molly had mistaken a bottle of soy milk in the fridge for the real thing, using it on Froot Loops that Matt bought for her when Mohinder was out of town (Mohinder had almost thrown the box out, but there were only two bowls’ worth left in it; the damage was already done). The expression on her face almost made up for the mess she’d left spitting it out and dumping the whole bowl into the trashcan.

Mohinder ventured out into the main are of the apartment only three times, once in his bathrobe, hair still-damp and curling fiercely from the humidity he’d subjected it to, to grab his first mug of tea and tell Matt what he was working on. All Matt heard was “figure out the base sequence of gibberish gibberish biology - technobabble gibberish ,” but he understood what Mohinder meant. It was more cure-stuff, more Company Business, and when he got over whatever flash of insight he’d had in the middle of the night, they’d be able to talk about the real business of breaking down the Company into its constituent members, hunting them down, and saving the world from their machinations for good.Matt was clearer on what that last bit meant for him ( _Public Justice_ , audibly capitalized when he said it aloud), but had a feeling Mohinder and Bennett didn’t think that was realistic or  _thorough_  enough.

It was a brief exchange, and Matt was glad he was the only telepath in the room as he studiously fought off memories of what he’d seen earlier.

It was early afternoon, and there was football on one of the sports channels. Football helped. Even after Mohinder came out for another mug of tea at the end of the second quarter and asked him to turn the television down, it helped fill Matt’s mind with something simple and understandable. He got up at halftime to grab some beer and refilled the saucepan with fake milk so that it wouldn’t scald. He found himself puttering around the kitchen instead of watching the halftime show (not much, it was only college ball), settling on washing the dishes so Mohinder would have something to cook with tonight.

Matt didn’t kid himself, he couldn’t cook as well or with as much obvious pleasure in the task as the other man could, but he did what he could to make it easier for the family to get along.

That thought tripped him up –  _family?_  – but only in that it didn’t seem so strange anymore, after everything else.

_ But then, who is Zane? _  he thought again, frowning into the sudsy water as he scrubbed a particularly uncooperative pan (curry and cast iron are not a good combination after twelve hours, but the uttapam had been as excellent a substitute for pizza as Mohinder had promised). Someone Mohinder had met at work, at a lecture? Someone he’d known back in India -  _less likely_ , Matt admitted,  _but still possible._  Obviously there was some history there, but why had Mohinder felt guilty this morning; why had Mohinder never mentioned that name before?

Most worrisome were the questions: if there was enough history there, would it break up what stability they had built for Molly? Would it undermine Mohinder’s mission with the Company?

It took until halfway through the drying process before Matt realized he didn’t care that Zane was a guy’s name. He stopped for a moment, then shrugged. Everyone in their little post-nuclear family was a member of a tiny, underground, often volatile minority. Who gave a damn about Mohinder’s former sex life?

_ Well, ok, _  Matt admitted,  _I do_. But he told himself that  _not_  worrying about some unknown factor in Mohinder’s past was inviting disaster.

***

The third time, Mohinder wandered out at around 2:30, stretching his arms above his head so far that his spine audibly popped. “I’m done for the day, I think,” he said.

“Good, Molly will be home soon and it’s movie night.” Matt started stacking the dishes in the cupboards. “Did you want help with dinner?” He grinned at Mohinder’s immediate wince.

“Actually, I found a place that delivers…”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Takeout? You?” Matt mimed shock and almost dropped a plate. Mohinder came around the counter to help.

“Only somewhat,” Mohinder said, reaching up above Matt to hang up some of the pots from hooks above the sink. “I found a place online that will deliver real food while I’m gone. We’re getting a test meal tonight. I’m putting it on the Company tab, because if they expect me to jet off at a moment’s notice without providing actual sustenance to you two-“

“I’m hurt, Doctor Suresh, really hurt. Don’t you think I feed Molly when you’re gone?” Matt faced the other man in the small space, hands on his hips but his tone was light, self-deprecating.

“I do, I just question as to how closely it adheres to the meaning of the word ‘food,” Mohinder replied in a matching tone, waving a serving spoon to emphasize his point. The space in the kitchen suddenly shrank as Matt realized he was close enough to smell the warm spice of Mohinder’s aftershave. It made him think of the desert for some reason, dust and heat and open, bright spaces. He took a step back, conceding the argument.

“All right, fine. I won’t debate having a steady source of food that I don’t have to cook-“

“Probably the reason you agreed to this arrangement in the first place-“

“Ok, aside from wanting the best for Molly, it was your cooking that won me over.  _Clearly_. My telepathy is  _contagious_ . ”Matt held his hands up in false surrender.

“You guys better not be fighting for real,” Molly’s voice interrupted suddenly. “Because if one of you gets mad enough to leave, I’ll  _find_  you. After yelling at the other one for being a jerk.”

Matt laughed, letting Mohinder bend down first to scoop Molly up into a hug. “No, we’re not fighting for real.”

“And I can promise you, neither of us is going anywhere,” Mohinder seconded.

Molly looked at them both seriously. Her thoughts said, in a tiny, hurt tone,  _Stop making promises_ .

Mohinder passed her over to Matt, who hugged her tight and said to her, “Have we broken a promise yet?” She smiled reluctantly and shook her head. “Right, so until we do, you’re not the boss of us.” Then he tickled her, and the resultant roughhousing and tearing around the living room didn’t stop until even Mohinder was winded and breathless with laughter.

***

((Tuesday))

After a long shift that had gotten carried away by pursuit of an elusive lead, Matt returned home to find Molly already put to bed and Mohinder well on his way to exhaustion, books and notes piled around him in some kind of paper-product mountain range, crowned by a precariously-balanced laptop.

Mohinder didn’t start when Matt came in, but he turned with a bright gleam in his eyes, obviously excited. “I think I’ve figured it out! I might be able to replicate the serum, given enough access to…” Matt grinned despite his own weariness, and let the other man’s words wash over him, not bothering to follow any of it.

He held up a hand when Mohinder paused briefly. “You are talking to a guy who can’t spell DNA without it turning into a conjunction, you know.” He’d introduced Molly to Schoolhouse Rock on YouTube the day before, trying to help with her English homework without having to stumble through the workbook. Mohinder suppressed a smile, remembering the two of them stealing his computer and watching the clips a second time just to sing along. “But hey, I don’t wanna spoil your moment, man. We should celebrate tomorrow.”

Mohinder shook his head. “Not tomorrow, the Company will want to know my progress. I’ll have to go in to the office to tell Midas I’ve found his gold.”

“Do you have to tell him?” Matt shucked off his coat and almost threw it over one of the dining room chairs when he caught Mohinder’s irritated, unspoken  _good lord, hang that up_. “Uh, sorry. I mean, will he still think you’re useful enough to keep around if this really does work?”

“More so,” Mohinder replied, his voice muffled as Matt dug through the closet looking for a hanger. “He’ll consider me a proven asset, and one that can be trusted with bigger things, or meet someone higher up. Besides, he probably has my computer bugged. The particulars will be hard to decipher, but they’ll know I’ve found something. How’s Saturday?”

Matt emerged triumphant from the bowels of the closet, having shoved aside a pair of lime green sandals ,  a couple of red mud-caked boots, and two left sneakers in the hunt for  _one_  hanger. “All right, Saturday, then .  I’ll take you out to a bar and buy you a drink to celebrate. We’ll hire a sitter or something.”

“No need. Tori invited Molly to sleep over, and I said yes when she asked,” Mohinder confessed, and Matt’s eyebrows rose. “Mostly because we can’t keep her in a bubble, much as I’d like to sometimes, and also because socialization with her peers will probably help her readjust. It will help her feel like a normal girl.”

Mohinder yawned suddenly. “My god, I’ve been working for six hours now. I thought you were coming home earlier.”

He started packing up his work, and somehow it all smoothly disappeared into one briefcase and one neat stack on a bookshelf while Matt spoke: “I snagged a lead from some witness’ head tonight. She was scared, so she wouldn’t say anything, but jesus. Some teacher got stabbed in the gut. I had to find out.”

“Did you find the attacker?” Mohinder asked, a faint smile hovering around his eyes.

Matt nodded, running a hand through his hair. “My head’s killing me, though.”

“All right, I’ll head off to sleep and leave you be, then. Your turn with Molly tomorrow morning, don’t forget.” Then Suresh was gone, and it felt like the room was twice as big without anyone to talk to. Matt poured out the dregs of Mohinder’s now-cold milk, rinsed the saucepan, and turned out the lights.

Padding down the hall in his socks, he stopped and leaned in to  _listen_  through Molly’s door. Her dreams were vague and placid, and he spared a small prayer that things could stay that way. That the Bad Man would just go  _away_  already and the Company would fold. That the three of them could just… stay like this, Mohinder going on his ‘Superhero Awareness’ Lecture Tour for real and spend most the rest of his time teaching in a University nearby. That Matt could single-handedly drop the crime rate; one perp at a time finding out that they can’t get away with murder anymore.

But mostly, he wanted Molly to never ever have nightmares – or a reason for them – ever again. Matt shook his head, and just hoped for  _one more night_  of untroubled dreams. Every night, one night at a time, he simply _hoped_ , and during the day he and Mohinder actually did what he could, each in their own way, to make it real.

As he passed by the next closed bedroom door, he felt a whisper from Mohinder’s mind tug at his. His face heated as he recognized it from the other morning, and did his best to ignore it, until-

There was someone in Mohinder’s room?

The stranger’s features were indistinguishable in the dark, but their voice was somehow familiar, whispering broken apologies between desperate, panting kisses as Mohinder thrust into him. “It wasn’t me, I’m sorry; it wasn’t me-“ The man gasped loudly, arching back and digging his heels into Mohinder’s thighs, urging him on .

Matt realized two things simultaneously: one, he couldn’t sense the other man’s thoughts, and two, he couldn’t hear the man’s actual voice, although Mohinder seemed to hear it fine.  _This is all in Mohinder’s mind._  Matt exhaled shallowly, shakily.  _Shit. Talk about a vivid imagination._

He walked away quickly, quietly, down to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, willing the mental images from his brain but never quite succeeding. Ignoring his own hard-on until, finally, he gave in and brought himself off with a swift, brutal pace that brought back echoes of Mohinder’s fantasy.

_ The hell? _

***

((Wednesday))

Morning:  _Wake Molly._   _Coffee. Brush teeth. Pee. Get Molly dressed, packed up, see her off to school. Shower, shave, change. Breakfast._   _Avoid looking at Mohinder._ __

_ Pretend you didn’t jack off last night imagining his breath on your neck as his hands were on your dick. _

It was more than Matt thought he could handle that early, but Mohinder was distracted by the upcoming meeting with the Company rep, and Matt made an early escape to work without having to hold up too much of a conversation. Still, he was distracted all day, enough that they let him shuffle the paperwork from the last case and sent him home early to make up for the long shift the day before.  _Normal for some cases to still get to him_ , their thoughts said.

_ Normal _ . The word echoed in his head as he came home. This was normal? This was  _home_. He looked down at his left hand, and his ring finger didn’t feel incomplete without the plain gold band on it anymore. Four thin lines through the air, drawn by bullets, separated his old life and this one. There was no frame of reference for ‘normal’ after that.

Matt decided to pick Molly up from school, and her surprised delight to see him replaced all confusion and doubt from his mind. Except one thing, lurking in the back.

“Hey, Molly,” he asked after her excited run-down of the day’s events (including one skinned knee from some jerk who knocked her over in dodgeball, an A-plus on her biology test, and another note from the art teacher), “Has Mohinder ever mentioned the name ‘Zane’ to you at all?”

“No, why?” She looked at him curiously. “Is it someone you need me to find?”

“No, no. It’s not important,” he waved it off nonchalantly, and changed the subject back to her day. “So did this guy push you? Do you need me to talk to the gym teacher about him?”

“ _Matt_. He didn’t really mean it, I don’t think,” she replied, while thinking,  _I can take care of_ _myself_. “He’s just clumsy - he fell twice.” And then she started talking class gossip, which never ceased to amaze him. How did kids fit so much drama into the littlest things?

They ambled home through the park, and found Mohinder already back when they came in. “Oh, good, I was beginning to worry,” he said, crouching down to look at Molly from eye level. “Remind Matt next time to call ahead so I don’t have to assume the worst.”

She grinned. “Does this mean I can tell him what to do?”

“Only under  _very special_  circumstances, yes.” Mohinder beamed back, a quicksilver flash of teeth that hit Matt in the gut.

“Hey! Do I get  _any_  say in this?”

“No.” The other two chorused, looking up at him with matching mischief. Matt rolled his eyes and gave up.

***

Molly insisted on Mac and Cheese, and on making it herself. Mohinder objected to the former, on grounds of taste and ‘nutritive value,’ and Matt objected to the latter, because her method of cooking it left at least double the number of dishes to clean. And, since Molly needed her social studies report proofread, Matt was stuck doing the dishes before the bright orange paste turned into cement .

He listened to the other two as they went over her paper, bickering over where the Queen of England lived. “-she may be there now, but that’s not where she  _lives_.”

A few minutes later, they finished up and Molly went to get her Nintendogs .  It wasn’t a real puppy – their lease wouldn’t allow one – but when Matt had brought the Nintendo DS with money from his first paycheck, the glee in Molly’s face told him that this was almost better. Mohinder had looked on with raised eyebrows. “Oh,” Matt had said, noticing, “I got her BrainAge, too. It’s, uh, educational…” Mohinder’s eyebrows stayed up, but he seemed to be suppressing a smile .

Matt filled one half of the sink with hot water and soap, watching Molly scrunch herself next to Mohinder on the big armchair while he read. They were so  _skinny_. Matt looked down at his own stomach, and scowled. If his mom had met these two, she’d have shown them in and not let them leave her sight until three full meals had gone by.

Occasionally, either Mohinder or Molly would peek over and ask about what the other was doing. Matt grinned to himself and let their voices drift in and out, not really thinking about anything much.

“Hey, Mohinder?” Matt looked up in alarm as he caught Molly’s intent before she even said anything. “Who’s Zane?”

Mohinder froze, and his mind said  _Sylar_?

Matt dropped the serving bowl he’d been rinsing, sloshing water over his arms and the counter. He frantically mopped up the mess before the suds travelled down to the stack of clean dishes, and when he was done, both Mohinder and Molly were looking at him.

Molly was giggling.

Mohinder was wide-eyed, a little frightened but mostly outraged.  _Stop reading my mind_ , his thoughts were projecting repetitively, like a mantra. Aloud, he said “No one important, Molly. Someone I thought I knew. Someone I thought I could trust.” His words were deliberate barbs. Then Mohinder looked down at Molly, seriously. “That’s why you always have to be careful of strangers.”

Matt took the opportunity of Mohinder’s glance away to flee the room, but not before hearing Molly point out, “…but you and Matt were strangers when I first met  _you_ …”

***

((Thursday))

The next morning, Mohinder didn’t leave his room when Matt got up to send Molly off to school. When Matt got home from work, Molly was curled beside Mohinder on the couch, napping beneath a patchwork blanket they’d salvaged from her family’s things. Mohinder looked up from his book with a closed expression and said, in a low voice, “Bob has set up a meeting for me with one of the Company’s money men. I’m given to understand he does most of the laundering of the ‘funds’ Bob provides, and likes to track Company investments. Apparently, he considers me one of them.”

“Um,” Matt said intelligently, surprised Mohinder was speaking to him. “Wow. When?”

“Tomorrow.” And Mohinder turned back to his book, offering nothing more. Matt chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Mohinder-“ he started, stopped, then said in a rush, “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to – upset – what we’ve built, here. For Molly.” There was no answer. “I’m  _sorry_ ,” he finished lamely, and went to his bedroom, a tight knot of anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach.

He sat on his bed, staring blankly at the closed door as if he could see through walls.  _Mohinder dreams of fucking a psychopathic murderer. On a regular basis._  He doubled over, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as his thoughts ran in circles. __

_ And, god help me, I got off on it, too _ _. _ __

_ He doesn’t think of him as Sylar, though. He thinks of him as ‘Zane.’ _ __

_ I didn’t know it was Sylar. I didn’t care. _

_ It wasn’t Mohinder’s fantasies that turned me on. It was -  _ Matt’s train of thought stuttered to a stop and he had a clear memory of Mohinder in the shower that made a slow heat uncurl in his gut.  _I didn’t know it could be so damn hot, or that he would –_ He couldn’t articulate to himself, even in his own mind, what had changed, really .  Mohinder hadn’t actually  _done_  anything, but just knowing about this, seeing what he’d seen, made Matt suddenly uncertain and disoriented. __

_ And now he hates me because I couldn’t keep my mind to myself. _ __

He only came out again when Molly woke up and clamored for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. And, apparently, that was the one thing that Mohinder couldn’t cook right. So Matt laughed and joked with her while coaxing the bread to just the right shade of crispy brown and pretended he couldn’t feel Mohinder watching him. _Studying_  him, or glaring, he didn’t look up often enough to tell .

When Molly asked if they could go to the corner store for some ice cream, Matt said yes, wanting desperately to get some fresh air. The entire way down the block, she swung around both men in erratic orbit, one hand always reaching for one of theirs.

Slowly, something eased between them as she chatted gaily, at first about Tori’s sleepover ant then about the upcoming talent show.

“Will I ever be able to show off  _my_  talent, Uncle Matt?” The question blindsided him, and he and Mohinder exchanged nervous glances .

“Well, uh, I hope so. Someday. But not right now, okay?” Molly screwed up her face in disappointment as they entered the store. Mohinder opened the door for them both and Matt went in first, scanning the layout automatically.

“We’ll explain when we get home,” Mohinder bent down to say to her quietly, conscious of the public venue.

They were all winding their way towards the freezer when a voice called out from the liquor section just around the corner. “Hey, Parkman!” Matt stopped, recognizing the voice. He let the other two go on ahead, smiling at the tall, craggy man who’d called out to him.

“Hey, Jacobs,” he replied. “What’s going on?” Molly came back to get him, and stopped, looking up at the stranger.“I’ve told you about Molly, right? Molly, this is Detective Jacobs.” Mohinder came up after her, a carton of low-fat Neapolitan ice cream, their usual compromise, tucked in the crook of an elbow.

“Oh, yeah, your little girl. Hi, Molly,” the man knelt down to look her in the eye, shifting his six-pack of beer from under one arm to the floor. “Nice to meetcha. Parkman taking care of you okay?”

Molly nodded. “Nice to meet you, too.” She responded politely enough, but there was a quirk to her eyebrows that spoke volumes about the man’s patronizing tone. “I didn’t catch your name , ” Jacobs said to Mohinder, standing again.

“Doctor Mohinder Suresh. I’m helping Matt take care of Molly.” She leaned back against Matt’s legs and he absently tugged on her ponytail when she stole an impatient, eye-rolling glance at him.

Jacobs frowned at this, glancing down at Molly. “She’s not sick, is she?”

“No, no,” Matt laughed, a little awkwardly. “No, we just- uh.” No matter how many times this came up, he always seemed to fumble the explanation.

“They both wanted to take care of me and I didn’t want to have to pick,” Molly piped up from below. Jacobs chuckled, and Matt caught a flicker of thought from the other cop:  _Huh. Guess Erickson was right_ _. _  Matt knew he’d been the topic of the rumor mill for a while. There was no malice behind it, but still.

“We should get you home before our ice cream melts,” Mohinder said, catching Molly by her shoulder and steering her towards the counter .  “A pleasure to meet you, Officer Jacobs.”

“Yeah, you too, Doc, Molly.” Jacobs hefted his beer. “See you at the station, Parkman?”

“Right, yeah. That reminds me, I gotta talk to you about that 10-31 you picked up yesterday. I think I got a matching case.” And Matt had to rush out the door to catch up with the other two, leaving Jacobs smiling and shaking his head as he counted out change at the register .

***

They put Molly to bed late. Between the nap and the ice cream, she begged for extra reading time, and neither could say no. “In the High and Far-Off Times the Elephant, O Best Beloved, had no trunk,” Mohinder read aloud, handling the worn, hard-bound book with fondness. Matt stood by the door, smiling at the scene.

In Mohinder’s voice, the already-lilting prose turned into music, and Matt couldn’t begrudge not being able to read these tongue-twisting sentences to her himself when he could hear it like this. “…One fine morning in the middle of the Precession of the Equinoxes this 'satiable Elephant's Child asked a new fine question that he had never asked before.He asked, "What does the crocodile have for dinner?" Then everybody said, "Hush!" in a loud and dretful tone…”

“I think she’s finally asleep,” Matt whispered after another few minutes.

Mohinder nodded and closed the book, regretfully. “I know. I got caught up.” He smoothed one slim hand across Molly’s brow, lightly and stood.

“I didn’t know you liked Kipling,” Matt ventured cautiously when they were out in the hall. He didn’t want to shatter the fragile peace Molly had created between them. She had a knack for it, but Matt knew it was tenuous at best right now.

“My father liked him. Don’t get me wrong, there are some pervasive lingering issues I have with his work, but… Well, I’ve been reminded, lately, of Kim’s Game. I keep searching for what’s missing…” Mohinder paused for a beat, seeing Matt’s expression. “Oh, you were just making an idle observation, weren’t you .  I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m sure that when you get to Kim with Molly ,  I’ll pick it up, too.” From his angle, Mohinder’s face was in shadow, but Matt thought he was looking at him a little strangely. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mohinder shrugged and started moving around the apartment, turning out the lights. Matt went to check the locks and windows.  _You’re_ _not a stupid man, Matthew Parkman_ , Mohinder thought, as if he was keeping himself from saying it aloud .   _Why don’t you know that?_  There was no natural way for Matt to respond without admitting eavesdropping.

They were both quiet as they turned in for the night.

***

((Friday))

There was a bomb scare in a downtown bookstore, and Matt had his hands full dealing with panicky onlookers .  In the end, it was just some college student’s backpack filled with computer parts for his engineering class. The poor kid was _third_ -generation Saudi, for chrissake. Matt shook his head, imagining the heightened paranoia when the public found out about people like him, who they couldn’t tell apart from everyone else.

Racial profiling wasn’t necessarily  _right_ , but there were always more horrible things people could do to one another.

It was another late day, and he came home to find Molly alone in the apartment, working on homework. He understood the frenzy earlier, then, as he checked every corner of the apartment frantically, while Molly watched him with wide eyes. “It’s ok, Matt,” she finally said. “Mrs. Crendall has been checking on me, like,  _all_  afternoon. Every fifteen minutes, almost. Mohinder called the station and found out that you were working late, and asked her to keep an eye on me. Didn’t you get his message?” His desk had been a riot of witness reports. There could have been a message in there, but he suspected he wouldn’t find it until next week.

Matt, between breaths, slumped into the armchair, still in his coat and shoes. He beckoned Molly over and she half-hugged his shoulders, bemused. “It’s ok, Matt. I’m okay.”

“So where is Mohinder, anyway?” Molly shrugged against his shoulder.

“He said they needed him to stay late at the lab. He doesn’t tell me a lot about what he’s doing.” She looked put out by this. “I got an A on my last science test, I’m sure I could understand  _some_  of it.” Matt smiled, despite himself.

“I’m sure you could. Maybe I should tell Mohinder that he should let you help with his dad’s research. That way, it’ll stay in the family.” Molly’s face lit up and this time, her hug almost strained the scar tissue in Matt’s chest.

“You never said we were all a family  _together_  before,” she whispered as he held her tight.

***

((Saturday))

Mohinder came in just as Matt began to suspect that the Company had sent him out in the field again. Molly was watching cartoons and pouring herself a bowl of cereal when the locks clicked open and Mohinder staggered through the door, face drawn with exhaustion. His gaze seemed to be looking at them from very far away, but he somehow found the energy to smile when he saw Molly .

“I’m just tired,” he said in a hollow voice. Matt went over and steadied him, feeling fatigue trembling in the drawn muscles of Mohinder’s back.

“All right, okay, we’ll get you to bed and you can talk about it later. He’s fine, Molly, he’s just been up all night in the lab.” Molly nodded, the worry in her eyes dimming but not disappearing. “Come on, Mo, c’mon.” He hung up the jacket, then guided the other man’s stumbling steps to the right room.

Mohinder mumbled something into the pillow as Matt worked his shoes off.

“What? I couldn’t-“ Matt said, wondering if it was some Clue that Mohinder brought back from the bowels of the Company at great and perilous risk. Mohinder’s thoughts shifted deliberately into English. … _please for the love of all that’s holy, never call me ‘Mo.’_

Matt stared down at the collapsed figure on the bed, and realized he had a goofy smile plastered to his face.

“He’s fine, Molly,” Matt said in a much more certain tone when he came out. He grabbed an orange Froot Loop from Molly’s heaped bowlful despite her protests. “He just needs lots and  _lots_  of sleep.”

***

Coming home from work, Matt bumped into Mohinder in the hallway. He’d been occasionally taking the stairs, both for the exercise and because he  _really_  didn’t trust the elevator in their building. “Where’s Molly?” he asked, seeing the other man was alone.

“At Tori’s sleepover. It’s Saturday. I just dropped her off.” Mohinder unlocked the door and there was an awkward moment where they both took off their coats by the door and ended up knocking shoulders and elbows. Matt laughed under his breath, a little.

“I forgot, I promised I’d take you out and buy you a drink. You still up for it?” Matt asked, pausing with his jacket still in one hand in case they were going back out.

“God, no, I just want a quiet night at home,” Mohinder said, some of his earlier weariness creeping into his tone. “But I could use a drink, certainly. I think I’ve got something in the upper cabinets...” Mohinder went to look and pulled down an unfamiliar bottle, dusty but still sealed. “Hm. I never bought this. I wonder if it’s any good…”

“Do you want to tell me what happened at your ‘meeting?’ yesterday?” Matt asked, staking claim to the couch.

“The Company is filled with sadists.”

“Are you okay?” Matt heard ice clinking into two glasses and the crack of a can of soda being opened.

“I’ll be fine.” Liquid being poured.

“What happened?” Mohinder came around to where Matt could see him, and offered a glass. Matt took it and eyed it dubiously.

Mohinder crooked a smile at his reaction. “It’s feni with coke. It’s fine, don’t worry.” Mohinder took a long swallow and sat in the armchair facing Matt, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his own drink cradled by both hands.Matt took a cautious sip, tasting soda and something like coconut syrup. “They wouldn’t let me out of the laboratory.”

“They  _wouldn’t let you out_?” Matt repeated, incredulously.

“The ‘financier’ I met? Who likes to keep a close eye on investments? He wanted to see if my theory worked.Apparently, he doesn’t understand that there is a long and lengthy process involved between theory and a proven solution.”

Matt decided to sit up for this. “So, what? He locked you in the lab?”

“No. He… mentioned that if I weren’t productive, perhaps they should stick with a proven asset. Like Molly. Or you.”The last words were spoken into Mohinder’s glass, and he took another long drink.

“That son of a bitch!” Matt exploded, surging to his feet. Mohinder followed him up, hands held out placatingly.

“It’s fine, it worked.” Mohinder grinned proudly. “It actually worked! I found a method to synthesize the cure. It’s time-consuming and inefficient, not to mention expensive, but it  _worked_ . ” Something in his eyes sparkled, and Matt felt himself sway forward before he caught himself abruptly.

“Wow, that’s incredible, Mohinder,” he said, lamely, then added with all sincerity, “You never cease to amaze me.” He realized how it sounded before he even finished the sentence, but didn’t care enough to equivocate. It was true, and after the nightmare of yesterday, Mohinder deserved a little positive reinforcement.

_ Really? _  Mohinder’s thoughts said clearly and warmly.  _And here I thought you were just putting up with me for the cooking and pretty face._

“What?” Matt found himself blurting, and Mohinder’s face fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I-“ He set his drink down and left, fleeing again from the hurt, violated look on the other man’s face

***

“Matt?” Mohinder’s voice through the door. Matt didn’t answer, had no words ready. He knew that anything he’d start to say would come out backwards and sideways. Conversational dyslexia, compared with Mohinder, whose conversations were all insight and philosophy and layered meanings.

_ Matthew Parkman. _  His mental tone was firm and clear.  _I know you can hear this. I’m practically shouting in my own head… And you can’t ignore it this way or refuse to believe me or take it the wrong way if I think it. Because you’ll know it’s true._  A pause, as if he expected an answer.

 _ I think I deserve to be heard out, you know. _ __

Matt paced his room, feeling caged. He heard Mohinder’s quiet footsteps receding down the hall, and the door to the other man’s bedroom close with its customary creak. He almost bolted, when he heard Mohinder’s thoughts calling out again. __

_ You know, I’m not an imbecile. There’s only one time during which I allow myself to think that name. And it’s not all that volitional, really. _

_ Psychotics can be charming when they want to be. They can become someone so believable that even  _ you _, a mind-reader, would have a hard time recognizing the deception. They convince themselves first, and it works, because the split from reality is so profound_ … Mohinder trailed off, his thoughts branching in several directions. Musing on the scientific nature of insanity, all the studies that he’d read about or participated in during school…

“You’re lecturing,” Matt said to the empty room around him.

_ …But in the end, nothing ever happened between us. I know he wanted it, and god help me, so did I. I wanted so badly… _  Memory-flashes of sitting in a diner, Zane/Sylar’s eyes bright with interest and something like wonder as Mohinder reminisced about his childhood in India. Leaning in to one another over a map, cautious, too - aware glances at each other that met and held for a moment before breaking apart as they continued planning the route.  _But he was always more focused on the goal, not the journey. I didn’t see it at the time, and I certainly didn’t know why._

Regret, heavy and profound, colored Mohinder’s mental voice.  _I almost killed him when I found out. I hurt him, and I-_

Another cutoff. A reluctance.

_ \- I  _ _ enjoyed _ _  it. _  A long moment where both digested this admission.

 _ I had been profoundly betrayed, by the man who killed my father. He would have killed me. Yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t always forget the person he pretended to be.  _ Mohinder’s thoughts faded, and Matt felt lost without the lifeline of Mohinder’s narrative. He remembered Janice, and the animated, admiring girl she’d been when he’d first met her. And the bitter, disappointed woman she’d become, looking elsewhere for everything she no longer saw in him. __

_ You know, I anticipated some loss of privacy.  _ Mohinder’s thoughts intruded again, wry now instead of self-recriminating . _  I invited an inquisitive preteen girl and a mind-reader into my home. I just didn’t expect such a _ _ spectacular _ _  violation of my thoughts. _

__ A hesitation, again. __

_ Here’s the part where I’d like you to pay particular attention. _ __

Mohinder’s mental voice was firm, ruthless in its demand. _If there is only one circumstance where I think about Zane, the facade Sylar used to get closer to me, then you must have listened, during those infrequent moments of weakness._

_ How many times, Matthew? _

“Oh, god,” Matt muttered miserably, thinking,  _That’s it. I am so boned._  He had ruined things with one moment of indulged curiosity.

His powers were making him  _homeless_  again. Molly would have another upheaval in her life, and he wouldn’t be here to help her with her nightmares, or see her sing in the talent show, or watch her grow up.  _The kicker is,_ Matt thought miserably, _I really want to know who she’s going to be. She’s going to be so beautiful, and bright, and amazing, and I wanted to say to myself ‘I helped her become that_ _ , _ _ ’ even though I wouldn’t really be able to believe it. _

Matt ground one palm into his temple, willing it all away, his power, his  _stupidity_ , his inevitable ability to ruin _everything_.

But Mohinder wasn’t done with him. __

_ How long did it take before you started to wonder who Zane was? Started to worry? _ __

“Twice,” Matt admitted aloud, though there was no way for Mohinder to hear his response.  __He found himself standing by the window, shoulders slumped in defeat as Mohinder’s thoughts cut him apart, dissected him.

Staring blindly at the fire escape outside, he let his head droop until his forehead was pressed against the cool glass.  _I wonder_ , Mohinder continued on inexorably,  _when_   _you got_  jealous.

_ If I’m wrong, you’ll want to leave right about now. _ __

_ If you go, I won’t hold it against you. Just make sure the front door shuts loudly enough so that I can hear it, so that I know not to continue. And we won’t speak of this; I won’t even let myself remember thinking this, ever again. We’ll let everything return to what it was, and we’ll raise Molly, and we can go our separate ways when she doesn’t need us anymore.  _ A quiet pause. __

_ I’m going to give you a little time to decide. _

And then Mohinder’s thoughts relaxed from the deliberate clarity that he’d been projecting for the last half-hour, into a quiet, repetitive and flowing stream of Hindi. A mantra. Matt straightened, apprehensive, suddenly released from the hypnotic spell that had snared him. He should probably go.

Mohinder had said that nothing would be lost if he left now, that things would go back to their usual semblance of normalcy. The slate could be wiped clean of his trespasses, and he would no longer see that look of recrimination in the other man’s eyes.

Yet the same impulse that had him listening to Mohinder’s most private moments held him rooted now, and instead of leaving, he sat down on his bed. Mohinder had something  _planned_ , and the only way Matt would ever find out was by staying. Curiosity helped him as a cop. It often led him into some very dangerous territory,

But most of the time?  _It was worth it._  So he fought his impulse to flee, and deliberately relaxed, sitting up against the headboard and tipping his head against the wall that separated their rooms, as if it would help his ‘hearing.’

He sat, and waited, relaxing a little to the quiet, calming mantra coming from the other man’s mind.

_ You haven’t left. _  Mohinder thought clearly, but this was mental communication, and Matt could hear  _oh thank god, I wasn’t wrong_ running in stereo beside the main message.  _Then I don’t think you would take it amiss if I asked you to indulge me while I try something._ __

And then, clear as a photograph, Matt could see what Mohinder saw, and his mouth went dry. Mohinder was standing in front of his dresser, looking into the mirror above it, meeting his own gaze as if he were staring at Matt. Overlapping the familiar sight were Mohinder’s own perceptions of himself: _too skinny, too angular, never as put-together as I’d like to be, but I never have the time…_ __

Matt ignored this, and focused on what he was ‘seeing.’ Mohinder was wearing his terrible plum-and-olive paisley dress shirt, untucked and partially unbuttoned over a white wife-beater. His hands fidgeted at his sides, and a muscle clenched briefly in his jaw.

Then one hand rose, and unfastened the last few buttons on his shirt.  _You’ve been watching. I thought I’d give you a better view._

Matt’s jaw dropped when the first shirt hit the floor. He shifted a little to ease the sudden tightness in his slacks, wanting to pretend he wasn’t as affected by this as he was.

_ You can still leave, same terms as before,  _ Mohinder offered faintly, but Matt could tell that he didn’t mean it, really.The mirror-image paused, lifting its chin, then reached for the hem of his undershirt. A brief blackness as it obscured his vision, and then a whole expanse of skin was exposed.

Before, he’d been caught up in the man’s thoughts, his mind, but now Matt had a chance to realize that all those were contained in a slim, dark, definitely  _male_  body. There were no familiar curving surfaces, no pale, luminescent skin that blushed under awareness of his gaze. Just long, slim planes that sloped downward inexorably, cut off by the waist of Mohinder’s worn, faded jeans, riding low on his hips. A faint shading of dark hair over his chest, tapering to a thin dark line that bisected his abdomen.

With this view came flashes of other imagery, laid over like ghost-images. A figure, behind Mohinder, hands resting lightly on his waist. A man with dark hair mouthing the column of his neck from behind, scraping lightly with his teeth, and the reflection in the mirror blurred as Mohinder’s eyes slipped shut for a moment. He kept broadcasting what he was imagining, the feeling of hands pulling him backwards a step until both bodies were pressed together, a hand tangling in his hair to tip his head for better access to his throat.

When Mohinder opened his eyes again, it took a second for the view to focus, but when it did, Matt saw the phantom-partner look up and into the mirror .

It wasn’t Sylar, although it could have been, at first .   _It’s me_ , Matt realized before the other figure flickered out.

 _ Oh, god _ . He groaned through clenched teeth and gripped himself through his own pants, suddenly unbearably hard, and his connection to the other man slipped.

When he was sure he could watch again without shooting of like some teenager, he concentrated again.

Mohinder was on the bed now, legs sprawled apart, eyes closing more often but his mind was filling in the rest:  _Matt, over him and pressing down with his hips, thrusting slowly, mouthing his jaw and his breath ghosting over Mohinder’s collarbone. Unbuttoning his jeans, slipping past the layers of cloth and stroking Mohinder with a firm, sure hand._

In the mirror, Mohinder was doing all this himself, and Matt couldn’t tell which was hotter, the sight of the other man so willingly, wantonly exposed ,  or the imagined scene. He echoed the motions, freeing his dick from the too-tight confines of his khakis and matching Mohinder’s rhythm.

 _ Matt whispering broken, obscene endearments between panting kisses, pressing his forehead against Mohinder’s shoulder as they worked to strip off the last layers of clothing. _  Mohinder swiped his thumb over the head of his cock, gathering the moisture that welled there, and slipped it into his mouth.

Matt had never, ever thought that the idea of sucking a guy off would turn him on until Mohinder imagined it for him, the clear impression of  _salt and musk and fullness_  flooding Matt’s mind.

He gave up on focus, thrusting into his hand as snippets of Mohinder’s fragmenting thoughts brushed past him, flooded over him.

_ … Matt’s voice, rough and hoarse, murmuring reassurance as he slowly pushed forward and  _ _ in _ _ , a hand stroking along Mohinder’s thigh as it wrapped around his hips…. _

… Mohinder’s awareness of his own harsh panting as he drove himself closer to the edge…

_ … the feeling of fullness and stretching and undulating motion  _ _ within him, and intent, dark eyes watching his every reaction… _

_ …Matt, make some noise. Let me know…  _ Mohinder thought, fighting for enough control to make his thoughts clear,  _let me know you’re with me._

Matt groaned in response, letting his head fall back to the wall with a dull thump, and apparently that was enough, because Mohinder’s mind dissolved into pure sensation, and then light. There was nothing to do but follow, and Matt came with a loud gasp, blacking out a moment later from sheer sensory overload.

***

He woke, groggily, clenching his eyes shut against the unwelcome need to get up.

_ Coffee. Brush teeth. Pee. Shower, shave, change. Breakfast. _  Janice must have already made coffee; he could smell its aroma in the air.

 _ Wait. _   _Not Janice._ __

_ …Mohinder? _

The night before came back to him in a rush. Matt’s eyes snapped open to see the other man standing in the doorway of his bedroom, two mugs in hand. __

“Morning,” Mohinder said quietly, a small, unguarded smile on his face. He looked smug .

Matt felt a quick, embarrassed grin flit across his face and he looked away.

He found himself staring somewhere in the vicinity of Mohinder’s knees, clad in an awful set of pajama bottoms, all thin, vertical stripes in shades of maroon, orange, and brown. His feet were bare, crossed at the ankle as he slouched casually in the doorframe. Somehow he could make pj’s and a rumpled, long-sleeved t-shirt look effortlessly elegant, and Matt’s face burned hotly as he realized he was half-hard beneath the blankets.

_ You look remarkably well shagged, considering I didn’t even lay a hand on you last night _ , Mohinder’s thoughts said, a deliberate communication.

“Um,” he ventured, brilliantly. It was far too early in the morning for him to even attempt some kind of dialogue about what had happened.  _Was_ happening .  Mohinder came in, and wordlessly handed him the coffee.

“Thanks . ”

Matt took a sip, and nearly spilled it as the mattress sagged beneath Mohinder’s weight.

“So,” Mohinder began, watching him intently. Matt shifted uneasily under the other man’s gaze, suddenly unaccustomed to Mohinder’s actual physical presence. “After last night, I’m pretty sure you know what  _I_ want. When you’re ready, tell me what it is that  _you_  want.” And Mohinder was taking the mug away gently, and slowly leaning in.

Caught by an irresistible pull, Matt leaned in, too, and they were kissing, a slow deep kiss that mingled coffee and creamy,  spiced chai. It was awkward at first, and Matt froze up a little when he felt stubble scraping across the edges of his mouth, but it was even hotter than Mohinder’s fantasies had conjured. It was  _real_.

And then it was over, and Mohinder pulled away, returning Matt’s coffee to the hand he’d used to tentatively trace Mohinder’s jaw.

“When you’re ready.” Mohinder stood, smiling a quicksilver grin before leaving the room entirely. From the hall, he added off-handedly, “Oh, and we don’t have to pick Molly up until noon.”

Matt would later swear that he had never,  _ever_  left his bed as quickly as he did that morning.

 

  


\-- END --

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story; I am updating my archive here for completion.


End file.
